


sensibility ain't my strong suit, darling

by moonddun



Series: jasmine cookies [1]
Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Everyone Is A Little Lonely, F/F, no beta we die like (wo)men, sana is not okay, sanayeon are bad at feelings, so is nayeon, teenagers being teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 08:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonddun/pseuds/moonddun
Summary: It's healthier than what Mina thinks it is, because Sana's not in love.Nayeon's not either.(Two years, Sana and Nayeon, not-love, and attachment.)or alternatively, Sana's entire highschool experience is just one bigOh™moment.
Relationships: Im Nayeon/Minatozaki Sana
Series: jasmine cookies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958548
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	1. prologue

**Prologue**

People are asymmetrical.

Minatozaki Sana gets a pack of cookies shoved to her face on the first day of high school. The supposed homeroom teacher is smiling at her warmly, there are her classmates for the next three years playing around in the background, and chatter identical to angry goose noises fills the air. Sana stands there on the doorway, right under a wooden sign that spells out 1-B.

"Cookies for every new student!"

She accepts the flower-shaped cookies with a small bow and proceeds to her assigned seat, next to a girl with shoulder-length black hair and timid eyes. Some of the kids talk about how cool that second year student's speech was in the opening ceremony, Sana agrees and nods when they ask for her opinion. The homeroom teacher's name is Kang Seulgi, teaches art, in her late thirties, everyone swoons. 

It's a start, somehow.

The small event remains on the blurry shelves of Sana's memory lane, and she fast forwards a big leap.

\----

People are, indeed, asymmetrical.

It's somewhere in Sana's second year, a little more than a dozen pages ripped off the calendar since her first day.

There's a change, in the form of a former second year who gave the student body speech in last year's opening ceremony. Straight, silky brown hair that reaches her back, lips that turn into heart-shapes when she tumbles back in laughter, and well-kept uniform without a single crease.

Sana fast forwards again.

\----

They're asymmetrical.

The way Im Nayeon holds Sana's hand is like melted sugar, an aftertaste of sweetness choking up lungs with honey clogging up her entire bloodstream. Long fingers, large palms, it wraps around effortlessly. Sometimes Nayeon's hands are sweaty, trembling from the delicate thread around her heart, sometimes it's tender, as if everything's made out of porcelain and Sana's hands are the most fragile out of all. 

Sana doesn't know whether it's ironic or not, as she (always) stares at their intertwined hands, the exact same way Nayeon has Sana wrapped under her fingers. The intricate details of her heart is structured from balloons, ready to burst and pop at any given time. It sways and bounces around on a certain brown haired girl's palms with a trembling fear of falling out. Maybe it already fell, maybe it's hanging off the edge and no one cares, maybe it's on the brink of flying away.

Im Nayeon is older by a year, and if Sana counts very carefully there's a fifteen months gap between them. (Not that it matters at all, but the small tidbits keeps her at bay, far away from the rushing waves and hurricanes.). Im Nayeon wears her uniform perfectly to a T without a wrinkle, straight hair and straight A's, never comes late, attends the night classes almost religiously, and never talks back to Teacher Song even if he's the number one douchebag in the whole world. At this point, Nayeon might just be the epitome of a perfect girl—

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Reality sets in, and they're in the school's cafeteria, Nayeon's halfway through her boxed lunch and a piece of lettuce is sticking out of her mouth. Sana's frozen in her place, the school's lunch tray still full in front of her except for a half eaten grilled fish that looks pathetic.

_Oh._

Nayeon munches through her food before continuing, "You've been staring for a whole minute, Minatozaki. Is there something on my face?"

Sana flushes for a while, but then takes a slurp of her banana milk, eyes staring back at Nayeon, "No, you're too cute it's distracting me."

It's predictable, how Nayeon chokes through her mouthful of rice and splutters before taking large gulps of water. Nayeon's face is beet red, right hand covering her face as a habit whenever she's embarrassed. The whole gesture is very amusing, how the slight glint of mischief flashes by Nayeon's eyes even though the girl is definitely ten degrees into burning from shame. It takes a while before Nayeon finally calms down and scoffs, body raised forward in an intimidating manner.

"Is this a challenge, Minatozaki?" Nayeon asks with a smirk. Sana notices her hand twitching as if holding back herself from yanking the younger girl's uniform collar.

But Sana kept silent, only giving a genuine smile that further screws Nayeon. She doesn't say it, but the look in her eyes is enough to make Nayeon fall back into her chair with arms crossed. It's definitely entertaining, how easy it is to mess with Im Nayeon, how easy it is to make the senior go on a limbo of different emotions with the simplest motions. (And how easy it is that Nayeon makes Sana tumble along with her reactions.)

There's the feeling of soft soles on Sana's calf, and the playful smirk is back on Nayeon's lips. It doesn't linger, the sensation leaving almost a split second later. Nayeon's still staring intently, as if she's studying the whole surface of Sana's face as a research paper, with every bit as the markings of a chapter. The hazel eyes are mesmerizing though, and the way the cafeteria's pale light falls on them is definitely tugging on Sana's heartstrings like the climax of a puppet show, her bare feelings stretched out to ends of infinity, somehow ending up in the person in front of her.

There's Im Nayeon, perfect third year student that excels in almost every subject, the spokesperson of the student body, object of admiration for every aspiring schoolmate, embodiment of smiles and politeness. The exact same Im Nayeon with some mischievous tendencies, high energy that soars up to the skies, sitting in an expensively large cafeteria ten minutes into lunch break.

Sana whispers every nook and cranny of Im Nayeon inside her head like it's a prayer, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Nayeon-sunbaenim, your lunch looks delicious."

"Ah, why really? You refused my offer to make you lunch yesterday!"

The noisy cafeteria zooms out into the far, far background, and Nayeon's incessant whining is all she can hear.

"You're one of a kind, sunbaenim."

Sana traces back a few steps.

\----

(One would say it's a tale, Sana begs to differ.

It's not much as a tale as it is a wishful thought, because mere eyes don't see the finish line before they pass the starting one. 

She's not trying to remember the fruit of her efforts.

Sana doesn't.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this one been sitting in my drafts for nearly a year due to my stubborn ass and a whole lot of other circumstances. i didnt even know that i'll be able to post this someday, and yet we're here! *sobs
> 
> this is going to be a rather long one so buckle up and enjoy the ride. the next few chapters should be updated within this week.
> 
> thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts in the comment section! :)
> 
> • companion art for this fic (which links to my twitter) can be found [here.](https://twitter.com/moonddun_/status/1313742220399271937?s=19) •


	2. step one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Highschool, first year, first meeting.

It's somewhere in her first year.

The way it happens is something Sana would've made into a two-metre list rolling down the school's pristine halls, and a further ten-metre across the spacious fields. They first met around club orientation during Sana's first year in high school, and Im Nayeon's as immaculate as ever. It's not all that surprising when you enter such a prestigious private school, there would be one or two unbelievably brilliant students you would hear about pretty soon.

Kyungwon is the kind of school you hear people talk about in awe, the kind to show up in big family meetings and make your extended family send funny looks to you across the room, sometimes it's also the kind of school to make people stare indiscreetly at the badge on your uniform. Sana thinks it's mostly the same as every other private school, except for the gold plated school gate and weirdly huge fountain—probably also the fact that almost every student she knows has a twenty five percent chance of being a company heir or something. It doesn't mean much.

And so, when Sana finds out that the bunny-toothed girl that gave the student body speech during the school's opening ceremony was the exact same girl that has her face on the school's brochure cover with at least a full page of her achievements displayed, all of it barely gives a shock. (The fact that the school has a separate hall for displaying trophies and article cutouts from various student legacies is telling enough, though Sana still feels that the fact that it exists is obnoxious much.)

A second year by the surname Im, straight brown hair and the owner of a personalized shelf on the honour hall. Those are well-known facts—quite possibly the first thing you'd know about her besides the 97.26% score on the KMOs, and everytime Sana passes through the stuffy white-gold hall to reach the science labs, the silver plaque name catches her attention like wildfire. She counts at least three different newspaper articles from separate publishers, five magazine interviews, three gold medals, six silver medals, two bronze medals, and so, _so_ many honorary mentions from various academical associations. Sana is entirely sure the school's study club (and teachers, by extension) somehow hero-worships Nayeon, even if not by her brain then at least her charms.

(Sana remembers the opening ceremony like an awkwardly positioned memory on her brain. She still feels it under her bones, how the deafening silence envelops every inch of the hall, how her chest seems to tighten by instinct and thrum on a chase, how the entire school body is a starstruck mess spiraling further into the mercy of a blinding existence that is Im Nayeon.

Sana remembers a smile, and a voice.

Sana remembers the gravitational pull that comes along with the smile, and the sugary taste in her bloodstream that etches itself in the voice.)

Im Nayeon is bright.

And for all the universal reasons why everything about Nayeon seems so extravagant, Sana's life intersects with the brown haired girl in a contradictory mediocre way. She barely remembers it, her memories are a little fuzzy and the whole meeting was so boring she could've just forgotten it like she always had with others. (But this is Im Nayeon, and for a certain reason it's floating around somewhere on the back of her brain like a small cloud.)

Certainly, seeing Nayeon in the flesh is breathtaking, even if the said girl was drenched with sweat, hair sticking onto her foreheads along every drop of perspiration scattering around. Sana's on the outdoor sinks to fetch some water for the gardening club members (which found her lounging around and decided to make her their errand girl for some ice cream), Nayeon's washing her buzzing face from track practice, alone without her club members.

"Oh, hello, Im Nayeon-sunbaenim." 

"Hello." Nayeon swipes back the hair covering her face while turning to the junior beside her, "Here to get some water?"

"Ah, yes."

It's silent, Nayeon's still splashing more water to her face and Sana's busy figuring how the hell does the tap work because no matter how hard she turns the thing it wouldn't budge even one millimeter. She struggles with the thing for a solid two minutes in frustrated silence, the only sound accompanying her is water running and Nayeon's content sighs.

Then there's a finger pointing to her hand, Sana turns her head spontaneously, "That one tap is tricky, you need to turn it counter clockwise or it wouldn't work."

Somehow, Im Nayeon, jewel of the nation (a nickname Sana saw on one of the newspaper articles, she founds it absolutely profound one time and it sticks since then), is turning a metal tap in a silly way while sporting a goofy lopsided smile that somehow reminds Sana of a Retriever puppy with a wagging tail. She watches quietly as Nayeon fills the plastic bucket with water, mind wandering to think if Im Nayeon is just this nice and thoughtful, then maybe all the talk of Helpful Im is very much true.

"Here," Nayeon hands the bucket back to Sana, with her brown hair somehow finding its way back to stick on her forehead, "Make sure you remember this, okay?"

"Thank you, sunbaenim." Sana bows to the older girl.

"You're welcome."

It's uneventful, Sana's mind doesn't slip away as she walks back to the greenhouse, she doesn't look back at the Im Nayeon moving away in a jog back to the track field, she doesn't remember it on the bus ride home. It passes away as a flash, one that sometimes pops up inside her brain, one that she completely forgets at times. 

She doesn't interact with Nayeon again after that, with nearly a thousand students, her chances of interacting with one is in a percentage she's sure is low enough. The boring high school days pass as usual, the season inches closer to the boundary of another one, and Sana goes down the calendar one step at a time.

\----

(Pull the tape. Rewind. Close. Click.

Sana starts her first year.)

\----

High school is a little different than how Sana imagined it would be. 

It's not really like she has much expectations, no linear itinerary of things, no daydreams about the three years and three-zero students in a class, maybe one or two drops of anticipation but that's pretty much it. Everyone talks about the stressful hours, sleep deprivation, college pressure, yada yada. Things do turn out to be the same as the talks, Sana takes the very gracious ten minute break between periods to make up for the lack of sleep. Self study starts at five and ends at nine, lunch break isn't separated between turns due to the massive cafeteria, club activities are divided into two slots in a week, two Saturdays off each month, the puzzle fits.

Class 1-B.

The number is exactly thirty, a six times five square of desks inside the classroom. Sana sits on the third row, with her left to another Japanese girl with an M surname, her right next to the three Park surnames in the class. One of them is Park Sooyoung, class president extraordinaire and possibly the second loudest person in class—first place reserved for Teacher Kang during her endless rants about cats. The front row is fully booked with Kim surnames, not much worth remembering. She's grateful for the alphabetical order, middle school was ruthless with the seat ranking system.

Choir club is an oddball, a touchy subject, the last thing Sana would bring up in a conversation. They're comfortable, out of the place, secondary home, somewhere to run away, a dislike tainting Sana's inner secrets. Each Wednesday she walks in for three periods of singing and breathing exercises, with the occasional senior pressure and over-the-top respect and not getting big positions as a junior and genuine warm smiles. The seniors mean and think well, just not with the right head. (And the Japanese girl that sits next to her volunteers for the music accompaniment; breaks the high E string on her guitar second week in, the piano playing isn't half-bad. Okay, maybe Sana is exaggerating, she plays amazing. Still kind of stoic.)

Home economics rolls in. Sana gets paired with the next-desk Japanese girl—Myoui Mina, she learns after a full week of not paying attention—for the rest of the term. Teacher Song handles the class, a man around his fifties with still complete black hair and thick-framed glasses. There were rumours flying around from the upperclassmen, that Teacher Song exchanged his soul and moral compass to the devil for eternal youth, Sana would try to live to know the truth.

Even with all the stern looks from Teacher Song and the constantly coughing kid two rows back, Sana's focus flies like a ping pong ball over the Home EC counter to her term partner. Next-desk classmates aren't supposed to be weird, and yet Sana's here, next to a sighing girl whose eyes doesn't seem to care whether the sun rises from the east or not.

Lean build, perfect posture, raven hair, solemn eyes—Myoui Mina is an anomaly made out of grace.

The result is a meager answer, based on minimal interactions in class and barely concealed curiosity during extracurriculars. She's one year younger than the rest of the class, probably skipped a grade in elementary, not born in Korea or Japan but somewhere far in another continent (America? Sana barely remembers Mina's quiet introduction during the second day), joined the school's music club early for unknown reasons. Mina is someone with a dozen question marks hanging low on her head, Sana barely gets it anyway.

Mina smiles, with a smile so faint her features barely move, "Pleasure working with you, Minatozaki-san."

"I'm really looking forward to working with you, Mina-san." Sana accepts the smile, a silent twitch on her lips as she grabs for the ingredients, "Nice seeing another Japanese here, it's always good to have someone to talk to."

Mina doesn't smile much, Sana learns.

They work in silence for most, spare for some instructions. Sana preps the ingredients, Mina preps the broth. The recipe is at Mina's side ninety percent of the time, courtesy of Sana's own cooking skills, insistence of _"No, Mina-san. I'm already used to doing this."_ , and this weird itch that tells her that Mina needs the absurdly thick recipe more. The air feigns a thickness that dulls the mood, the mix of various spices numbs their senses. Pepper is an imminent force through Sana's nostril and she sneezes hard enough for Mina to spare a glance. Red onions stings, badly. As bad as onions could be. 

Teacher Song yells occasionally, Myoui Mina doesn't flinch, the itch doubles.

Normal is scarce, based on the figurative chaos train that is 1-B and its residents. There must be a telltale tick that would show what kind of havoc that Myoui Mina would wreck, being in 1-B. Sana has a pretty good sense of foreboding—one would say, some otherwise—for this certain type of thing. They're barely starting up the year and Park Sooyoung got detention twice, Teacher Kang holds a record of twelve successful eraser pranks to the point everyone feels sorry for pranking her, the gym teacher assigns them extra laps from the little-teenage-shits attitude, too much others for Sana to count. Who's to say Myoui Mina isn't a troublemaker by association and exposure?

So Sana's hunch would be pretty much correct.

And yes, it doesn't go south in a second.

It goes south in a ticking fuse.

Sana nearly has a heart attack when Mina scoops ten cups of sugar for the spice mix. 

"Whoa! Isn't that a little above normal?" Sana tries to be polite, really.

"I thought this was... appropriate, Minatozaki-san. I do apologize if my assumptions were off the mark, the recipe said to put any desired amount of sugar according to personal taste."

One glance at the sheet of recipe in front of them is enough for Sana to see the red flags fly. There's definitely a big _"DO NOT ADD MORE THAN ONE TABLESPOON OF EACH SPICE."_ in thick black marker, most probably Teacher Song's frustrated handwriting. The recipe is awfully detailed, including a how-to-step for every single ingredient, ranging from the best way to chop green onions to boiling water, because someone managed to fuck up _water_ out at all things. But still, no matter how detailed the thing is, Myoui Mina seems to be unable to decipher it.

(It's a wonder, how many Mina-like students did Teacher Song have for the man to make a ten page chicken soup recipe?)

Sana really tries to not let her smile drop, "Let's just do this over, okay?"

They throw it down the drain before Teacher Song's blood sugar level skyrockets through the roof—no matter how tempting the idea is, a hospital trip is not a very good choice. Mina doesn't get scolded for that, because Sana has enough patience, mostly. 

"Should we switch, Mina-san? I'll redo the broth."

Mina gives her a blank stare.

"I guess we should."

It doesn't get better.

Mina cuts the ginger to microscopic pieces, forgets to peel the carrots before chopping them, burns the mushrooms into charred sticks– Sana loses it.

"Excuse me–"

Mina's eyes widen, "Wait–"

It must be the sheer stress, because Sana's self control just flew out of the window and she snatches the knife rather forcefully from Mina's hands. Sana feels the impact before she sees the destruction, and in that split second, Sana catches Mina's horrified eyes as everything goes to hell.

The entire thing slides into the pot with a bang.

_Oh fuckfuckfucknonono!!_

Sana almost screams. Mina jumps a little. Shell shocked. Squirming uncomfortably.

Sana watches as the entire pot goes into flames.

Someone screams in the background.

_"Is that a fucking satanic ritual?!"_

(Thankfully no one starts smelling like smoke. Or starts growing horns.)

Teacher Song—by a miracle—doesn't dramatically faint after a bowl of Mina and Sana's burnt soup, though he does cough insultingly loud. Sana thinks he might've just thrown up inside his own mouth, considering how blue the teacher's face is. 

"That was rather... interesting. Myoui, Minatozaki, a C minus for effort and teamwork," he says after wiping his mouth with a napkin, "I anticipate no less than disgusting from you two now on, do expect some extra work from me."

The big red C on Sana's name stares back at her.

High school is a little awkward.

\----

Days change, tests pass, Sana's grades goes up and down, Teacher Song gets wary every time 1-B gets in Home EC, the world still spins. As far as Sana's expectation goes, Mina gets over the home EC disaster rather quickly. But a certain Minatozaki Sana learns, like she always does, that Myoui Mina is _still_ an anomaly made out of grace.

Mina turns into a turtle—figuratively, because Sana's choice of metaphors are mostly scratches to the head—for the rest of the week. Ice cold, zero communication.

Sana tries, even trying was an undermining term for her efforts. Myoui Mina has the social tact of a cold brick and the outer emotional range of a circle—which is going around a single emotion without anything else outside the track. God knows what the Japanese girl is thinking under that indifferent shell. It takes a lot of willpower and stubbornness to make Mina talk, even for idle chats and mindless conversation. Sana nearly bites the insides of her cheek to a mess by the sheer amount of times Myoui Mina just gives her the blank stare.

But math period proves to be different, and as Sana tries to wrap her head around the law of cosines and writing the last of _minus 2abcosC_ on her notes, Mina relaxes.

"Mina."

Sana turns her head, focusing her former attention from problem number three on the board to problem number Myoui Mina on her left. A sudden yelp of _eh?_ from Sana and Mina just stares.

"Just... Mina. No honorifics, please, Minatozaki-san."

Oh.

Mina's eyes are a little bit more resigned than usual, none of the sulking, like she just finished an internal battle with herself and leaves with injuries too heavy to carry back. It's an emotion Sana's familiar with. A chance at reconciliation is still a chance, no matter if the metaphorical extension of the olive branch feels too rigid, and Sana wouldn't let it slide.

"Okay, Mina!" Sana quips back with a little too much force and internally slaps herself, wondering if she's biting more than she can chew, "Can I call you Mina-chan? Micchan? Is that fine with you? And oh! You should also call me Sana! Minatozaki-san feels like you're calling my mom, you know."

The air stiffens.

Sana counts down as Mina's wide eyes regress back into its original size, _one two three four–_ "Thank you, Sana..."

A gulp.

"-san."

(Sana realizes a very much late—years?—time later, along with several other things. 

Myoui Mina is probably a little lonely.)

School continues, classes come and go at a turtle-like pace, home economics slots in again, Teacher Song single handedly proves every rumour Sana heard about him. A fish-gutting live show and a ritual to honour the spirits of the vegetables they've slain within the first month, Park Sooyoung shrieks.

High school is fun.

\----

(Certain things aren't meant to be touched.

A painting loses its charm after decades of human hands, Sana should've known better.

That one step can lead to a string of downfalls.)

\----

"To be honest, even if you apply the law of unexpected circumstances, which states a perverse result could happen regarding a solution to a certain problem," Mina says, eyes uncannily blank as she stares at the center of the field, "seeing it happen up close is certainly a hilarious event."

"Mina, I don't think our class losing in every possible category is a hilarious event." Sana quips back, looking at the classmate who's sitting next to her.

"Park Sooyoung—long live our hell spawn class president—is being a total ass on the field, and it doesn't help our situation at all," with an amused stare, Mina leans back to the concrete ground, "I think our class is getting called to the principal's office sooner or later. Don't you think it would be interesting?"

Sana only gazes back at the event that's unfolding in the field, slumping her shoulders in a defeated manner. It's chaos embodied on earth, an uproar of overly energized high school students roped into a competitive event, sweaty bodies trying their very best to hold on, and shouting everywhere. Park Sooyoung, their class president, is screaming at the top of her lungs, and Sana flinches at every variant of curses that booms across the large expanse. There's a _"Goddamnit you fuckers keep your game!"_ thrown, another _"Little bitches don't get any pity!"_ echoes, then a _"Where did all that energy go you little shits!_ " shrills loudly. (Sana only can hope to the heavens there'll be no detention. Who the fuck gets _this_ excited for simple tug-of-war?)

The mayhem continues for quite some time, meanwhile there are no signs of their class gaining the upper hand in this round. Sana is way too tired to even care about who's gonna win this, hours and hours of Sooyoung blasting her eardrums—and probably everyone else's—are enough to make her lose every bit of energy left in her body. She wonders how the hell did the tall girl maintain enthusiasm throughout the whole day, Sana's already beat from the hurdle races and tennis matches. This certain day is unforgiving for their class, the infamous 1-B that can't do athletics to save their lives. It's almost hopeless how they drop lower and lower on the scoreboard.

Finally, there's a shriek, sounds of bodies tumbling to the ground, and shocked gasps from other students. Sooyoung hits the ground unceremoniously, tackled and slammed by a very short, very angry student council president—Son Seungwan, wasn't it?—who apparently had enough of her antics. They wrestle around for a while, a _"What the fuck shorty?!"_ and _"You better shut up now!"_ blares, and things get even rowdier by the council's disciplinary committee joining in to restrain Sooyoung. (Mina is amused, Sana runs to the center of the mess in a heartbeat. It turns into a WWE match between 1-B and the student council members.)

It's only Friday.

Today is the annual sports event held by the school, to commemorate the first principal's love for sports in spring. It's barely in the middle of April, the time of the year where everything hasn't warmed up enough for that much outdoor activities, and there are always students complaining about the chilly weather. But it's still a good day, out in the open with cherry blossom petals falling over and the scent of almond and lilac filling the air. The whole school is decorated in pink, Sana wonders how much money the school invests every year to have perfect cherry blossoms so early.

The scenery is pretty, a mesmerizing mixture of light pink and stretches of blue in the wide expanse of a never-ending sky, even the clouds swim about like cotton puffs floating on water. On what should be another day of normal routines with a little sprinkle of working out, Sana found herself, the rest of 1-B, and the main student council members standing in front of a clearly furious principal and a disappointed Teacher Kang. 

"Would someone mind explaining what just happened?" the principal speaks up, staring at each turned down heads exasperatedly.

Seungwan, being the responsible student council president she is, raises her hand and explains, "With all due respect, Principal Kim, Park Sooyoung of class 1-B was disturbing school activities and breaching the mandated rules, so the council decided to discipline her."

The principal only raises his eyebrows, "I presume that disciplinary actions didn't require fighting each other like elementary school children?" 

Sana almost swears that the president looks unbelievably smaller as she shrinks down and quivers nervously in her spot. The principal continues on and on about how they're tainting the school's name with childish actions and irresponsible behaviour, how the council should uphold better judgement and way of thinking as seniors, how class 1-B is setting a very bad example as younger students, and he keeps spewing moral codes and conducts nonstop. Sana hears a suppressed yawn from behind her, an out-of-character snicker from one of the council members, and a distressed sigh from Teacher Kang. (It's only the start of the school year and they're repeatedly making troubles for their homeroom teacher. Poor Teacher Kang.)

_"Honestly, youngsters these days..."_

The rest of the lecture falls deaf on Sana's ears.

They're dismissed after what seems like an eternity; Sana looks at the clock and awes at the fact they've been standing still for about a full hour. The council receives their first strike for the year—three strikes and it's a budget cut, Sooyoung is sentenced to sole class duty and being a helper (re: gofer) in the student council for a full month, and the class has to clean up the whole field after the day ends. Then there's this extra punishment, where class 1-B has to volunteer (re: offer a sacrificial lamb) for replacing the school's mascot until the last event of the day. (Everyone avoids it, because no one wants to get stuck inside a stuffy deer costume that looks ridiculous as hell. No matter how tempting it is to have something warm in this temperature.)

The class decides to do it the old fashioned way and starts an impromptu rock-paper-scissors tournament in the hallways—which gains them another scolding from Teacher Kang.

And that's how Sana ends up here, inside the girls locker room with a sports day committee member holding what seems to be an abomination in her arms. Sana's luck fails her for the umpteenth time in this twenty four hour space, she keeps wondering why the string of unfortunate mishaps has befallen on her. An awkward atmosphere fills the air as Sana tries to avert her eyes to the gray lockers that surrounds them. The sports day committee member looks at Sana in pity, a soft sorry escapes her lips as she gives her the lower part of the costume.

"It's not that uncomfortable! Trust me!" the girl says, trying to ease Sana's look of disgust, "The material is smooth on your skin, the only downside is that it's a little hard to breathe, it'll be okay!"

"Are you sure I'm not going to die in this?"

"You won't! Please, trust me."

Sana struggles to put on the costume, accidentally elbows the event committee member in the face three times, and finally flops inside what seems to be a portable heater—which is way too hot and excruciatingly cramped. She shifts around cautiously, trying to familiarize her limbs with the rather big costume, it's a funny feeling of not actually knowing the texture of things that hits her, like somehow her skin has grown in size and the nerves numbs out.

"Okay, you ready?"

With a smile, Sana accepts the costume head—the deer head is staring back at her creepily with those black beads—and puts it on half-heartedly.

"More ready than ever."

"Good! Come with me, I will guide you the ropes!"

In a flash, Sana's thrown back out into the field. The event has reached the final rounds of each category, it's currently the semifinals of hurdle races for the third years, there are even more teachers wandering around the area—presumably due to the chaos earlier, and Sana is shoved around to help cheer for the rounds. It rolls off exactly like how she imagined it, wobbling around as a glorified gigantic teddy bear disguised as a deer, bumping into swarms of people (Sana blames this one on her downgraded level of coordination from the shitty costume), and random hugs from students. 

"Let's goooo!!"

"Dear students, I sincerely hope you would tone down the antics for today, I've had enough of you all-"

"Teacher Choi! We have an injury over here!"

"Again?! I told you not to mess with the hoops!"

"Mascot! Mascot! Come here we need you for the photo!"

Things do get a little more chaotic when the finals enter, Sana supposes.

As a mascot, Sana's mostly just jumping in place and pretending to be excited while the match is going on, mimicking whatever happens on the field. Sure, the whole thing isn't that bad to watch, it's amusing to see some classes get utterly destroyed by others who have more sports club members. There's a lot of struggling on the field, both literally and figuratively since apparently her class isn't the only one that had a dumb idea to outright quarrel in front of teachers. The fight doesn't get as bad as the one from before, more like the over-competitiveness rearing its head in a number of occasions that leads to a little squabble. (Sana recognizes some of them as her choir club seniors, and chokes the embarrassment down her throat.)

"And now for the 200m sprint finals! We present to you class 2-E and class 2-A!"

A huge uproar breaks out and Sana flinches immediately. Everyone's crowded up like ants, filling spaces here and there without missing a beat. Sana gets shoved around yet again, the costume gets even more suffocating, and there's a hand pushing at her until she reaches the very front of the human ocean. 

"Presenting the runners! Im Nayeon of class 2-E...!" the MC's voice booms, enticing the hundreds of students behind Sana to scream at the top of their lungs, "and Jung Yerin of class 2-A...!"

Sana knows them, expects them to be in the finals. Jung Yerin is a member of the track team, that much she knows. She's fast, according to the medallions displayed in the school's hall of trophies. And her class—class 2-A, dubbed as one of the most ambitious class among the second years—is definitely enthusiastic, their energy radiates even from across the track, their shouts echoes and Sana wonders how did they maintain their voices throughout this whole event.

"Yah! Im Nayeon! You better win this one!"

"Nayeon! You're our trump card! Show them who's boss!"

Then it's class 2-E.

Im Nayeon stands there, on the starting line. She's dripping with sweat, with the P.E uniform jacket zipped up to her neck, hair in twin braids, and eyes dead set on the track in front of her. Nayeon is prim and proper, as usual. She smiles at the cheers of her classmates and waves back, stretches her limbs in a way that almost made Sana sure she's not a sports club member (it's weirdly stiff, even Sana could do way better than that), and she dons this charismatic expression that includes a silly grin and crinkling eyes. There's this odd, luminescent glow around her, like thousands of glitter falling from the clouds decided to embrace the second year in its descent. Sana thinks that's just a Nayeon thing, a special little perk reserved for ones that teeters on the edge of perfection. 

"Runners, ready your positions..."

(In between the chanting crowd, the suffocating deer costume, and the scrutinizing eyes of the event committee that's judging her reduced spirits, Sana and her blob of thoughts melts into something that only can be described as a person with eight letters for a name.

Sana barely hears the starting whistle, and misses the cue to start cheering.)

Nayeon runs.

It's almost like a slap on the face.

They're toe to toe, Im Nayeon and Jung Yerin. One person the ace of the track team, the other the golden child of the school. Sana doesn't understand sports much, but running is simple, and their forms are pretty to look at—as expected of track members. Nayeon grins a lot, with the spirit of an excited child finding a time capsule buried under a park, at least that's what it looks like for Sana. (The pink petals get swept by the wind, like a twisted rainfall amidst the blue sky, one of them lands on Nayeon's forehead.)

How funny it is, that from this distance, Sana finally sees it, the it™ of Im Nayeon that's always the number one talk everywhere. They always make a fuss over it, how the world is just a measly tribute for Im Nayeon; Sana scoffs in disbelief on how over-the-top that absurd metaphor was, she'd never give them the benefit of the doubt, until this, whatever _this_ is. Sana's solid view on how the basis of perfection should be—which might or might not be influenced by Mina's theoretical rambles—wavers a tiny bit. Nayeon really does look amazing when she runs.

(Enthralling would be the best word to describe Sana's line of sight, with the clamor silencing down, shrinking into white noise far from her hearing. 

Im Nayeon shines; the buildings, people, the ground, skies, everything turns blank.)

Sana might just come to terms with this (not so) reality breaking fact, it's tempting.

But then the match is over way too quickly for anyone's tastes, even Sana barely breaks out of her daze when the journalistic club drags her by the arm to take photos with the winner. 

Jung Yerin holds the medal, with less than a second margin between her and Nayeon.

The rest of the event flashes in a blur.

(No one recognizes Sana inside the mascot, except for her classmates who were part sorry part cackling. She smacks the few ones that's rolling over in laughter and chases them around the entire track. Mina gives her an obligatory pat on the back.

The costume still feels stuffy.)

\----

They do say people are asymmetrical.

As in the stark contrast, the fine line that should've separated things far and beyond, the cliché metaphor of oil and water. It's like an isosceles triangle on top of a rectangle, mashed with a square and lines that don't quite reach the meeting points, a literal meaning to asymmetrical. Reconciling with multiple altitudes of human nature isn't that pretty, there's the low moments where everything seems bleak, there's the highest point where the universe is okay—isn't everyone's afraid of losing their peak? The thought is appalling by itself, Sana quite understands how people really adjust their personality regarding who they are facing, but it's irking.

So in hindsight, when she's here, stuffed in an ugly deer mascot and hyperventilating from the absolute heat that the layers provided, all the while standing two metres away from Im Nayeon—the _Im Nayeon_ —who's squatting on the ground with a ruined tomato plant in her hands. Sana would have understood this one.

(Nayeon is crying.

The information gets processed through Sana's head way longer than it should.)

Ten minutes ago Sana was okay, not in this odd state of shock that somehow, _somehow_ disrupts her train of thoughts into a total wreck. It throws her off balance, she slips and the world comes in full force, crashing her state of mind. Sure, after three hours of playing mascot and being an arm candy for literally everyone and everything, Sana's pretty much a baked fish that's left too long in the oven, both mentally and physically. And amidst all that, Mina leaves her to mope alone, the other girl busy helping to prepare the bonfire for the sports day closing event. (Sana gets whiny for a good minute, Mina shuts her up with soda, candy, and promises to help her cool off after this whole mascot torture.)

Not even a second after Mina's back disappears to the distance, Sana bumps into twenty something tennis club members running around in a fit of nervous laughter and scattered glances. Sana stumbles, yells "Watch where you're going!" to the giddy boys, nearly spills the assortment of snacks in her arms, and almost kisses the dirty ground before regaining composure. (Sana's very thankful for her quick reflexes, because a horde of angry event committee members yelling over muddy costumes is one nasty scenario.)

It shouldn't bother her this much.

If anything, Minatozaki Sana and her instincts would definitely tell you that one: to help anyone in need, no matter what it takes, two: rushing to someone's aid is a good choice, and three: to not hesitate in an emergency. It is a wonder, why her feet are rooted to the ground, why her voice falters and snaps shut without a word, why the clock seems to pause in this juncture and freezes everything in its wake. The faded petals stop falling, the tilt of orange and purple above clouds stops blending, and like the tidbits of Sana's old camera lens, it zooms in on things that aren't supposed to be.

_Nayeon, a broken pot, tomatoes, tears._

Again, because fate loves to laugh in people's faces while mocking them endlessly, Nayeon turns her head at the sound of Sana's hitched breath and suppressed string of curses. The older girl's mouth is slightly open, a surprised look, tear stained cheeks, puffy eyes, the complete package of Yes I've Been Crying™ with the limited edition One Who Cries Over Simple Things™ add-on. In all honesty, Sana can't blame Nayeon for looking like she wants to leap off the face of the earth for being caught crying by an ugly deer mascot that's better off in the trash bin. (Nayeon's reduced to a deer in the headlights, Sana thinks it's a nice pun.)

The logical course of action would be to apologize and leave the crime scene in a millisecond, because it's embarrassing enough to be in this situation longer than five seconds—even more when you clearly look unwanted. But Sana plays the part, the nice and friendly sports day mascot who cheers on the student body; doing the unthinkable, moving the stopped time from Im Nayeon's clutch, trusting her inner instincts, removing hesitations.

Sana pats the older girl's head, offers her a piece of honey-flavoured candy and melon soda, and sits next to the absolutely horrified Nayeon who's holding the torn tomato plant closer to her chest. (The culprit is definitely that rowdy group of boys she passed by earlier.)

Nayeon splutters first, taking a small distance, "What- why- why are you...?"

Im Nayeon really is pretty, it's way more visible when you're sitting fifteen centimetres beside her. Also a little stubborn, but Nayeon begrudgingly accepts the drink and candy from Sana's extended hand. Sana helps her retrieve the rolled over pot, and the plant is back in its home; there are several smashed tomatoes on the ground, insides and all decorating red. Even after all the hassle of opening candy wrappers and having cynical looks thrown her way, Sana just can't seem to fathom why Nayeon still acts hostile. So Sana just makes this gesture with her hand, stretching a curved line in front of the mascot's mouth.

_Smile?_

Nayeon opens her mouth, as if to say something, but closes them again.

"Dumb mascot."

Sana swears it's the exhaustion, hundreds of minutes into being a glorified stuffed animal and she's a nutcase threatening to go to the fourth dimension. But there's a choir of angels singing, bells ringing inside her head, and she's staring right into the garden of Eden.

The bunny toothed smile is blinding.

(When the bonfire starts at night, Sana's in the center, running around and dancing to the tune of off-pitch highschoolers trying their best not to sound like a frog stumped by a door. She likes the costume a little better now, it's fun to play like this.

Sana spins, her gaze lands on the back row of second years.

For the nth time, Sana thinks she's hallucinating inside the mascot's head when Im Nayeon waves to her direction.)

\----

(Admittedly, dreams are somewhat obligated to be weird. It's like the gods of the state of affairs pour their blessings in order to spread this tangled hallucinatory black out whenever mankind leaves the world to sleep. Dreams are always the bite-more-than-you-can-chew scenarios stuffed down the pipes, Sana despises the overly specific ones.

Nayeon is a recurrence, a passing number on the ever-rotating clock, a magnetic force that makes Sana run in circles, a rehashed melody in orchestra, a planet that keeps Sana in orbit with its gravity field. It's funny how Sana dreams of things she forgets in the morning, things she barely keeps in touch within her anamnesis.

Sana laughs at how apparent it is that God has favourites, and one of them is definitely Im Nayeon.)

\---

Oddly, Sana sees (re: majorly notices) Im Nayeon more often.

It's not that noticeable, at first. The manner of things rises and falls at a steady rate without any kind of circumstances. But then Sana notices a certain brown haired girl from the corner of her eye, disappearing short after to a corner next to the labs or into the teacher's office while carrying a stack of papers. 

(And there's that one time, where Mina—freaking indifferent Myoui Mina who barely bats an eye to anything or anyone—catches her stumbling from staring at Nayeon a tad bit too long.

Mina doesn't really comment on how Sana defends herself poorly (it's something along the lines of _"No, no, no, I'm not staring, there's just you know, this interesting piece of leaf outside!"_ and Sana crumbling her pride further) nor judge Sana's mix of stutter and blabbers. She only chuckles, sending this knowing look that sends Sana into multiple levels of embarrassment. The slightly hot feeling in Sana's cheeks scalds her like a bad degree of burn, even more so when Mina just walks away without saying anything more. 

It's not until Sana's halfway into seventh period and stealing glances at a serious-looking Mina who's taking notes studiously, it hits her that she doesn't know at all. The conditions of what reduces her to a flushed mess, the requirement of things to make her feel like a deer in the headlights, it's a vague thing that Sana hasn't felt in an absurd amount of years. 

Sana doesn't think about it.)

Somehow, she starts realizing more and more, Nayeon walking down the hallways, laughing over some dumb joke with her friends, buying a salmon sandwich at the school store, hunched over the library desk with a mountain of books piled in front of her, entering the school gates while fixing her blazer, then Nayeon's _everywhere_. It's like magic, how Nayeon emerges from the doors exactly when Sana passes, how the pale white walls seem to spit out the brown haired girl whenever Sana turns her head, how the air constructs Im Nayeon out of microscopic particles with every turn of Sana's eyeballs.

(The balance moves ever so scantily, and it dips.

A continuous trip down textbooks and lectures and bunny teeth, follows through another moment as something merges. )

It's a Wednesday, summer is blazing in early July, there are things scattered over Sana's desk, Teacher Kang is writing something on the board, there's a collective groan from the class when the teacher starts explaining about an assignment due next week, then a stern voice reminding that _'you should be grateful I'm your homeroom teacher or else',_ and finally it's back to the normal atmosphere.

Sana is definitely not the type to lock focus on the board and lectures like it's her sole lifeline, but she doesn't doze off in class to daydream about sheep either, unlike some others in her class. It's a wonderful balance, she supposes. But as of now, she really should be listening to Teacher Kang's extended talk about how her cat inspired her to use Raphael's The Sistine Madonna as today's assignment topic, and the minimum number of pages required for the essay. (She blames it on the cat, the goddamn cat is uninteresting.) Her ears block out sentence by sentence, the sound drowns out, Sana's focus is thrown out of the clear windows, down from the buildings and into the large expanse of lined concrete and P.E lessons.

The scattered students must be class 2-E, judging from the familiar faces (and a certain brown haired girl with a ponytail, who's talking animatedly to a classmate). They're waiting in line for an evaluation on whatever sports the P.E teacher is grumbling about, as high pitched laughter is vividly heard among the queueing students. Thunderous claps and cheers booms with every record beaten and metres reached. There's chaos when a boy trips over his own shoelaces and smashes his face into a grass patch, but Im Nayeon stood still without flinching, an amused face on her face—at least that's what it looks like from Sana's vision, meters away and half-obscured by slivers of tree branches.

Even from this distance, the charm Nayeon exudes on a daily basis is very, _very_ visible. She stands out among the other more recognizable students, her presence sticks out like a sore thumb in every group of people she's in. Sana won't deny that Nayeon makes everyone look twice, one when she catches their eye across the hallways, the next one when they glance over their shoulder just a second away to see that passing back. (Sana expects that, because it's a fact, although it does sound ridiculous). Present time Nayeon is tightening her ponytail, and Sana's mind wanders off. 

A whistle is blown, and Nayeon swings the bat, sets a new record, then the whole class claps—it's clichéd. Sana can see the P.E teacher grinning proudly, Nayeon catching her breath while sprawled on the ground, one of her classmates fetches Nayeon's water bottle and hands it to her, the exact scene just screams Nayeon™ and it almost makes Sana gag. She watches a little bit more, and shortly after she realizes they're evaluating for something about softball. Her eyes land back to Nayeon yet again, and all she could think is that it's almost sinful, how much Nayeon fits the regular blue P.E uniform, how the plain outlook just did a total reverse and complements the girl even more. Isn't there a rule about it or something? Because this thing—whatever it is—happens like a routine, Sana ponders again and again- 

"Minatozaki Sana,"

Sana snaps back to reality, locking eyes with a mildly annoyed Teacher Kang, arms crossed and all. She hears snickers from her classmates (which is _very_ unhelpful regarding the shame that creeps up Sana's system in a millisecond), and the atmosphere shifts.

"Love is a common theme in western art history, many great artists have the emotion itself as an inspiration, or having their loved ones as a muse. Love also has various depictions in paintings, spread throughout many eras. A great example would be Gustav Klimt's The Kiss," Teacher Kang explains, eyes not leaving Sana as she raises her hand to silence the class, "Can you please give me one example of a recurring depiction of love in paintings?"

Sana's head goes blank immediately, because one: she's recovering from the shock of being caught and her brain's not working yet, two: she bullshits through all of her art theory exams by making up words and remembering very vague sentence from her textbooks, and three: instead of thinking, her brain decided to go on a riot about how she couldn't answer such a simple question. And so, Sana gulps a tad bit too loud and racks whatever semblance of intelligence left and blurts out randomly.

"Admiration."

"Very good, I suppose you're done with whatever it is that's more interesting out the window?"

"Yes, ma'am."

(Sana blinks, once, twice. 

Then something makes sense just a little.)

\----

(Mina is munching through her fifth spoonful of seaweed soup and stir-fried cabbage when Sana knocks down her apple juice carton on the table, small drops of liquid falling down from the straw. The chewing stops for a second, Mina steals a glance at Sana whose mind is halfway flying over tables and seats onto the far left section of the cafeteria.

"You okay?"

"Uh? Yeah, yeah, I'm okay."

Sana returns the juice carton back to its original position then proceeds to continue her lunch, preferring to eat the side dishes first and shoves the tomatoes off her tray. Not knowing what to say, Mina just silently eats the poor tiny cherry tomatoes. The food is nice, it's rather mediocre but Mina likes it this way—the soup tastes like medicine down her throat, the fish is a little too spicy, and the cabbage needs more soy sauce.

The girl in front of her loses focus again, and Mina turns her head to Sana's line of sight.

Im Nayeon, sitting with her classmates, drinking a bottle of yoghurt, eyes suspiciously in the direction of their table. (Again.)

Huh.)

\----

Then it's during the middle of autumn in October, rain pouring down and soaking every student whose stupid enough to brace the rain even though the school provides borrow-able umbrellas for this kind of occasion. A normal rainfall, one not too light not too harsh. It doesn't contain continuous thunder or brash winds, just water and more water. And of course, it's just Sana's luck that she forgets her umbrella at her grandmother's house—again. She looks around for students with spare umbrellas but the only ones remaining are stressed out seniors still in extra classes, and God forbid she invokes the anger of the zombie-looking seniors by bothering them. (It's scary enough just glancing at them, what's with the gloomy aura?)

So she waits, just because the umbrella box provided by the school just so happens to have only some broken umbrellas left and none fully intact laying around. Sana doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the series of misfortune that decided to loom over her this very day. She briefly considers to run through the rain but there's nothing available to cover her bag from being drenched. Yes, she wouldn't want the absurdly expensive textbooks soaked and she needs to bring them home no matter what it takes. She'll sacrifice her own sanity if that's what it takes.

And Sana strides through the now empty hallways, looking over the shower outside that doesn't seem to stop anytime soon. 

"Minatozaki Sana?"

You see, between a million chances of meeting someone, there's this odd tweak of fate that somehow pulls around illogically into an unknown, unforeseeable future. Like a roulette, the chances of landing into each of the boxes is exactly the same, but when you hit something better you can't help but wonder if it's luck. But no, you realize that it's still one of the chances available and just so happens to be. Sana wouldn't call it luck that Im Nayeon—in all her regal glory—is standing right in front of her with a slightly surprised expression, purple scarf wrapped around her neck.

For a second, Sana thinks that the usually bland gray and white Kyungwon uniform finally looks good. Everyone looks like a mash of colours blending together into this dull singularity of preciseness, black necktie in place, gray blazer ironed, white shirt all clean, no skirts too short. It's an everyday sight Sana gets used to in record time, at how boring it is that everything's so monochrome, so lackluster, so plain for the eye. But Im Nayeon has always been the world's very own exception, it's flabbergasting how the supposedly somber school uniform looks absolutely stunning on her.

"I'm waiting for the rain," Sana answers, smiling at Nayeon a second too long, "How about you, sunbaenim?"

(She doesn't ask how Nayeon knows her name, and doesn't ask herself why Nayeon looks different in her eyes this time.

Most importantly, she doesn't ask herself why there's this small hand pulling at her usually calm heart.)

"I was finishing up class duty, then it rained so I went to fetch my umbrella from the club room," Nayeon walks closer, and Sana feels more of the pulling at her heart, "don't you have an umbrella?"

"I forgot it at home," Sana answers sheepishly, fidgeting with her hand a little. Nayeon hums back.

The silence that follows is excruciating, they're standing still in the middle of the hallway, not moving an inch. Sana thinks it's way too awkward but she can't just flop away leaving a seemingly half-frozen Nayeon, whose eyes are fixated on Sana's every move. Now, Sana would say with confidence she's pretty good at making conversations with other people, she could make small talk interesting, at least she could try. But this awkward staring with Im Nayeon is definitely rendering her speechless, _way_ too speechless.

Then Nayeon coughs, snaps back to her usual sunshine material self with a smile that's the equivalent of staring right into the core of a star, "Would you like for me to walk you to the station? I'd be glad to offer some help."

Sana recognizes this Nayeon as Helpful Im, one that helps old ladies cross the road with an attitude that's ripped right out of a novel. 

"No, no, I wouldn't want to bother you–"

"Let me walk you to the station," Nayeon says with a more firm voice, hand grabbing Sana's wrist, "I need to be a good senior, don't I? I won't let you walk alone at this kind of hour."

Sana really, really doesn't know how to react at one: Im Nayeon™ holding her wrist, two: how Nayeon's eyes seem to sparkle at this distance, three: how she seems to be thinking too much about this whole ordeal with Nayeon even though it's very much a normal thing, or four: how the hands that are pulling at her heart just got stronger. (Sana chooses neither option to think about.)

And then they're out in the rain, shoulders practically glued together under Nayeon's yellow umbrella. Sana notices a little more than usual, how Nayeon prefers holding the umbrella with her left hand, how her hands look so big compared to Sana's own hands. The miniscule details she generally skims over is now presented at the very front of her mind, creating a wall labeled Im Nayeon that's blocking out all her other thoughts. (Sana forgets her dinner recipes, homework pages, bed covers on the laundry, and instead remembers a sweat drenched Nayeon washing her face.)

Nayeon talks a lot, it's endearing and genuinely interesting. Nayeon laughs with her whole body, it tumbles the umbrella and now they're half soaked. Nayeon listens well, it's a trait Sana's grateful for. Nayeon frequently tells stories of her various achievements, it divides Sana into being amazed and awfully baffled at the sheer confidence the girl has. (Im Nayeon is nearly perfect, the girl knows it so well that Sana would've thought that she's a cocky asshead who likes to rub in other people's faces how less than her they are, but the awful feelings don't come and Nayeon's not one. Sana likes it.)

(Sana enjoys this, watching Im Nayeon under the rain, with cars flashing by and people chattering in the background. 

Again, the whole world drips into a flutter of wind by her ears, Nayeon's the lighthouse she sees between the blurs of universe mashing together.

It's weird.)

A thunder roars, Sana and Nayeon both flinch simultaneously, then the wind comes blaring stronger than before.

"What the hell is wrong with this rain?!" Nayeon curses, fastening her walking pace.

"I don't know!" running alongside Nayeon, Sana screams back through the heavy rain.

They run for a while, bumping into several annoyed pedestrians with water blurring their visions and leaves slapping into their faces. Nayeon grips onto the umbrella like it's her lifeline, she grips it so hard her veins show and Sana's brain stopped to think that _wow, that looks cool._ (She almost hopes they won't see the main road anytime soon.)

Nayeon suddenly halts, turning to face Sana with an exasperated look, "I don't think we can reach the station this way, are you okay with making a stop? I don't want to sacrifice our bags anymore."

Sana just nods feverishly, she's had enough water hitting her face and cold seeping through her bones. The next thing she knows is Nayeon grabbing her hand, dragging her through the roads at a fast pace, but not too fast that they would slip. The view around them changes from high rise buildings to suburban homes, asphalt roads turn into wooden fences and gardens, Sana doesn't know where this is from the minimum view the rain and night are giving her. They stop in front of an absurdly tall white fence, Nayeon's fishing out something that looks oddly like house keys from her pockets, there's the sound of metal clicking, doors opening, and finally everything's dry.

Sana's stunned.

"Welcome to the Im residence, I suppose...?" Nayeon smiles, a soaked girl on the doorway, brown hair dripping with water, a warm yellow light cast over her like a luminescent halo. The whole world stops.

\----

(How do people cope when their time stops ticking?

Sana only sees a nice home in the middle of the upper class part of Seoul, carved reliefs on walls of white marble, and nothingness.

She clutches the gold until it cries blood.)

\----

"Your uniform should dry up quickly, my dryer's a good one."

The warm mug of tea in Sana's hand is a very tempting distraction, the calming scent of vanilla seeps down her bloodstream. It takes her mind off how Nayeon smells like jasmines with a sprinkle of lavender, a sweet, soft flowery scent that somehow contrasts with the gold that is her personality. Im Nayeon screams red and gold, royal, a ruler of things, the queen of the kingdom of everything the light touches. Im Nayeon definitely doesn't look like this kindergarten kid with oversized bunny pajamas, brown hair in a messy bun, and silver-rimmed glasses hanging on her nose. 

Im Nayeon shouldn't look this small in a dimly lit kitchen, thirty to ten in the evening.

"You look like a reindeer, sunbaenim," Sana finally says, staring at Nayeon's red runny nose.

"Do I?"

"Yes."

Nayeon just waves her hand at that, "I bet I still look pretty."

"You do, actually."

Nayeon laughs again, in that full on body laughter manner that sends her almost rolling down the carpeted floor. It's a loud one, Sana bemuses.

"You're funny, Minatozaki." rising up from the floor, Nayeon sends Sana a thoughtful look, "Really."

Sana only chuckles at Nayeon's statement, watching the older girl shuffle through the pantry rack one by one, looking for something. Nayeon's back looks absurdly tiny from here, without the usual gray blazer and poised stature. The hopping bunny pattern on Nayeon's pajamas is cute, somehow.

"Are you leaving on the last train?"

Sana nods quietly, "Maybe, if the rain stops before then."

"You can stay over if the rain persists, I'll be glad to," Nayeon says, her hands lining the racks, Sana chokes on air with eyes wide, pure shock at the older girl, "Oh! Trust me, you're very welcome here and I won't sell you out to some organ dealer or anything, and yes- please stay calm, I'm harmless. I'm just worried, and it's already late."

Sana should've been used to this, how Nayeon is an enigma, unsolvable and untouchable. Such a difficult subject to break down into parts, a thousand essays might have more use burning in a trash heap than explaining whatever the hell Im Nayeon is. The answer is locked in a safe, buried under the ocean, maybe in a hedge maze thousand of kilometres away. 

"I'll see, then..." there's a stone lodged in Sana's throat, heavy and burning, "It's a nice offer."

(It takes more than a mere heart and twenty two thousand courage for Sana to not legitimately freak out right at that moment.)

Nayeon searches around the kitchen for a minute before stopping on a shelf and taking out a dark bottle, "Hey, Minatozaki."

A clink.

"Would you still think I'm pretty after this?

It's wine, an expensive one judging from the label. Sana doesn't know what to say, at this Im Nayeon who's holding a bottle of wine with an unexplainable look on her face. Sana really doesn't know what to say.

(She knows this scenario by heart instead, the perfect child with a hidden rebellious spirit.

It's clichéd, but it's Nayeon.

She tries to put aside the fact they met only twice somewhere else. That Nayeon is showing her a side no one knows like Sana's some kind of TV drama protagonist. Like how this whole situation is fucking _ridiculous_.)

"Are you being a bad influence?"

Nayeon laughs again, in a more sinister tone, "I'm being out of character."

Sana rests her chin on her palms and looks up, "I'd like a good wine."

Nayeon whips out two wine glasses from the cupboard and lays them on low table, pouring the red liquid in such a refined manner it looks practiced. The wine swirls inside the glass like a small whirlpool, it's pretty. Sana silently watches as Nayeon gulps down her glass in no time, settling the empty glass with a clink and a harsh sigh. She wonders if it doesn't burn down Nayeon's throat, if the girl had steel coated organs to protect her. Sana turns back her stare to her own glass after a few seconds, looking away from Nayeon's somehow intense gaze.

"You know, I wanted to get to know you better," Nayeon mumbles as she slumps on the table, "the Japanese choir club member that everyone talks about. An interesting underclassman."

Sana holds back the urge to pet Nayeon's head, who looks impossibly like a large bunny with her messy brown hair all over the table. So she retorts to fiddling her nails, "Am I that famous?"

"Yesh." Nayeon's voice is kind of muffled now.

The pulling in her heart tugs rather hard, leaving this sharp pang right through her chest, "What's so interesting about me?"

(Sana's 100% sure Nayeon's not drunk yet, so why is the older girl breaking so much out of character?

This is leagues out of the tomato plant.)

Nayeon looks up and points both of her index fingers at Sana's face, "You're like, dumbly pretty. Like so, so dumbly pretty. I look at you sometimes, because you're just so,"

Nayeon pokes Sana's forehead.

"So, so pretty to look at."

Sana feels her cheeks warming up, she's sure her face is all red and puffed up right now. Minatozaki Sana has heard a lot of people call her pretty, her parents, friends, former teachers, that auntie across the road, boys she meets outside when she's walking her uncle's Shiba, but this one hits differently.

Im Nayeon, nomination number one for being one of the most beautiful people on planet earth, just called her pretty.

(Sana doesn't know why it affects her so much.

Nayeon's on her fourth glass already.)

In the midst of Nayeon's haze of calling Sana pretty over and over again, Sana sips the wine in front of her. The first thing she tasted was how strong it was, the thick taste filling her mouth almost instantly and giving that fiery sensation on the way down. It tastes way different from the soju she secretly tastes during the summer holidays, or the beer during new year's eve parties her friends held. It tastes oddly like swimming, and Sana dislikes swimming. (Or perhaps, drowning?)

Nayeon flops down on the table again, and now Sana's sure the drunkenness has reached the older girl. The fluffy brown hair is very tempting to pet, again. 

"I know you're the mascot, from sports day." Nayeon mutters, "I snooped around a little."

"That's a little stalker-ish, sunbaenim."

Nayeon laughs for the umpteenth time, "No, no, nope, just genuinely curious about the person who saw me crying over a plant."

(There's puffy eyes Nayeon, and a squashed tomato with its insides painting the pavement murky red.

Sana doesn't think much about it again.)

"I think the tomato is in plant heaven with lots of tomato friends. It must be really proud of you, sunbaenim."

Nayeon's glasses glints under the yellow light.

"Consoling me, aren't you Minatozaki?"

"I'd say your sobbing face is worth a hundred thousand won if I sold them to the journalistic club."

"Yah! It's not that bad!" 

In a way, Sana feels like running, sprinting through this maze of hazy fog that's swirling around her entire being. Tripping down on every vine that spans over, it's a churning feeling that makes its way up her stomach. The pulling at her heart makes a bit more sense now, even if she couldn't give it a name yet. Even if all she's doing is flapping her arms confusedly in this maze, all of it seems perfectly fine. It's surprisingly a content kind of warmth, though she's lost. All she's doing in reality is looking back and forth between her mug of tea, wine glasses, Im Nayeon, and the suddenly interesting wall clock, but her head's free falling through different layers of clouds.

Sana hears rustling, an annoyed groan, and then there's this weight that falls on top of her, landing her back on the soft carpet (she briefly thinks what kind of monster sets a carpet in their kitchen), and Im Nayeon is so not wobbling on top of her. The first thing she senses is the overwhelming smell of jasmines, intoxicating her lungs so much it suffocates, as if there are petals stuffed inside. The second is how heavy Im Nayeon actually is, and how you can feel her the weight of her bones. The third one is how soft Nayeon's hair feels on her skin, the fluffy brown locks tickles as Nayeon snuggles further to lay her head on Sana's neck.

(Im Nayeon gets clingy after alcohol, it seems.)

"Minatozaki-ssi, you're veeery comfy." Nayeon mumbles with this drunken sleepy voice that sends chills down Sana's spine, it makes her shiver involuntarily, "A big pillow, mushy pillow."

So Sana's just there, stuck on the floor with her arms awkwardly on her sides, an Im Nayeon spread on top of her like a wobbly octopus. Nayeon's glasses press uncomfortably against Sana's ribcage, it kinda hurts. She's also sure that the alcohol's finally working its way into her system, as the thoughts of prestigious kid Nayeon gets shoved further back into her brain, and how the predicament is way more alarming than her brain processes doesn't seem to matter, all she feels is pure unadulterated warmth. Just warmth.

Sana doesn't flinch when Nayeon's head snaps up, looking at her directly. She doesn't flinch when Nayeon presses their foreheads together, the scent of wine and jasmines invading Sana's sense of smell almost immediately. She doesn't flinch when Nayeon's scalding hot breath hits her face. She doesn't flinch when she drowns in the galaxy of multiple suns that is Nayeon's eyes, she doesn't. 

"When I see you from this distance, Minatozaki," Nayeon starts in a whisper, "you've only gotten even impossibly prettier."

The words gets stuck inside Sana's throat, it wiggles around uncomfortably before she could even translate it into her mouth, so she just says the things that are actually not difficult to say (like how her eyes can't stop flickering to Nayeon's pink lips, seeking the bunny teeth hidden underneath), the ones that catches Nayeon more off guard,

"What, do you have a crush on me or something, Nayeon-sunbaenim?"

Nayeon's breathing hitches, an awed look scatters her face instantaneously. But tipsy Nayeon is not the one Sana knows, tipsy Nayeon is impulsive, unknowing, doesn't give a fuck on what's happening, doesn't share that poised and perfect aura sober Nayeon does, and most importantly, sober Nayeon isn't... dangerous. (Drunk Nayeon would be a very interesting case to research on.)

"No,"

Nayeon moves her face closer to Sana. Their noses are touching and all Sana could think is how the jasmines are filling up her lungs in a way faster rate than anything before. 

"maybe I don't."

The next thing Sana registers is the taste of wine and soft, _soft_ lips.

(Yes, Im Nayeon might or might not be kissing her but that doesn't seem to be the problem right now.)

Nayeon seems to be frozen in place, no movement, no motions, nothing. Sana couldn't bear to open her eyes to even peek a little (when did she even close them?), not even the slightest flutter of her eyelids. It stays like that for an uncomfortable moment, before Nayeon moves her lips, tugging at Sana's upper lip.

(Sana doesn't remember why she kissed Nayeon back, she doesn't remember why the sensation of Nayeon's tongue lingers on her mouth, she doesn't remember why she wrapped her arms around Nayeon so delicately, she doesn't remember why all of her soul seems to be replaced by jasmine petals.

Sana pretends.

Sana pretends of her memory.

Sana pretends she didn't feel tears that weren't hers falling on her face.

Sana pretends that her heart thrums against her ribcage.

Sana pretends she didn't hear something tumble and crash down.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again!
> 
> this was a pretty long chapter, i must say. thanks a lot for reading through all that! 
> 
> please do leave your thoughts below! i'd like to see your opinion on this fic, hehe.
> 
> see you again~


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